Tag Archives: suicidality

Swear post warning offensive language here in

Swear post warning offensive language here in

So about two hours ago, I was smelling something. Had no idea what the hell it was. I thought maybe a cord was burning, something was catching fire, checked all my wires and electrical stuff. Nothing. I go downstairs to see if my mother sprayed something, and it is coming from the hallway, or so I thought. I went back upstairs. The smell got worse. I decided to open the damn window, screw the storms. I shut the vent or opened it (no idea) on my AC. Then go downstairs again because I had to pee. I check on my mother as her sugar was low. She was fine and then I see the culprit. One of my sisters bought a Renuzit freshener thing that was pineapple and coconut. It was stinking up the house. I shut it, told my mother, put it in the kitchen, and then went back upstairs fucking swearing.

I was talking with my BFF about stuff. I asked if she was okay. She said she was but I knew she was stressed. I won’t go into it but I was glad she told me. I was getting sleepy so I told her goodnight and I will check in with her tomorrow. She said she hopes to sleep too. I lay down, and my fucking legs become stone and hurt like fucking hell. I sit up, take some magnesium as that is the only thing I can think of to calm it down. I shift my position, causing me to move my ankle. Dumb fucking move. I saw fucking stars. Still hurting so fucking bad. I waited, hoping it would settle down. It didn’t. BT med time! I start having anxiety. I am ready to call my fucking psychiatrist, but what the hell is she gonna do? It is fucking midnight. I hate this fucking shit.

All day I have been having body dysmorphia issues. I really hate my breasts. I want top surgery so damn bad. But because of my damn pain issues, I can’t have testosterone treatment, which is delaying the fucking top surgery consults and what not. If I had the money, they would be long gone! I would find a decent surgeon and be done with it. I hate my body. I hate myself more. I feel like I am a fucking idiot who should be fucking dead. My therapist said that it was reasonable that I am thinking about suicide. Who wouldn’t be if they were in my crummy shoes?

I have tried to get my head around it. Someone reported me, again, to Twitter about my talk about suicide. I have no idea what tweet it was as they didn’t tell me. If I did, I don’t remember it. I know I posted last Friday after my pain doc appt. But I don’t think I have posted anything this week. Unless the word itself, suicide, is what freaks people out and makes them report people. I don’t know. They are assholes. If they would talk to me, that would be okay. I don’t know. Sometimes I want to talk and other times, I get the concerned but I don’t know what to do with you people. And it is all fake sometimes. Pisses me off, like bother someone else with you fake sympathy or whatever bullshit you are giving me right now. I know what to do if my safety is in danger. Been down that road one too many times and don’t think that just because I talk about suicide that I don’t know the crisis number or the crisis text number or someone I can call if I feel like I am going to act on my thoughts/feelings. It’s as simple as that. Do I want to end my life, yes I do. Do I want to do it right this second? No. But the time will come when I have all my ducks in a row to execute my plan. I am working with my therapist to kind of break the cycle of overwhelm/end my life thoughts. But until then, I can still plan. It is an escape. You don’t believe me, do research.

I want the meds to work NOW. I don’t want to fucking wait. I am tired of waiting. I used to be a patient person. Now I am realizing being patient, means just that. You are a patient of some kind to someone. The pain doc, psychiatrist, physical therapist, etc. you have to wait to see them. And it fucking sucks. I am tired of waiting. I want treatment now. And dammit, if I don’t get treatment, I am going to die. Maybe not by the damn disease/condition I have, but by other means, which I don’t know exactly what they are. This dying this isn’t easy. Probably is if you have some lethal illness but not a chronic painful one.

I hate that I can’t move my damn ankle the way that it is suppose to move. It gets fucking upset with me. Going down the stairs or up the stairs aggravate it. My right ankle is sprained so it hurts because the tendons are swollen and stretched a little bit more than they are supposed to be. I also walked a lot today. And went up and down the stairs a lot to find out what that fucking smell was that was irritating my respiratory system. Set off my allergies big time. I am sending them a text tomorrow and put it in all caps. That will tell them how fucking pissed off I am. Assholes. I don’t know which sister it was, most likely the middle one but I can’t be sure. They will definitely hear about it later today.

8 Aug 2018

8 Aug 2018

I had a good session with my therapist. I told him about the saga with my primary care office. I had to nurses, both beginning names with B that I called bubbleheads because that is what they are. After we talked about those idiots, I told him about how my suicidality was up and down and all around. He said that it seemed like I got some powerful emotions going on that overwhelm me and then my thoughts say fuck it, end my life. He was right about that. I am very overwhelmed with things right now, not only in trying to get my pain somewhat managed and taking care of my mother. It would be a hell of a lot easier if the lunatic wasn’t over the house every damn day as she is just stressing me out to the point where I don’t even want to be home to hear her. My mother isn’t that bad. She can manage breakfast, the lunatic usually does lunch, and then my middle sister does dinner if I am not home. Next week is going to be hard because I told him, I have a shit ton of free time as he and my psychiatrist is away. He then said I am free to text him until Saturday night as he leaves Sunday and won’t be available. That kind of helped me as his texts kind of reassure me that someone is validating what I am feeling.

I asked if it was stupid to get a planner and just “schedule” some things. He said no and encouraged me to do it. So after the appointment, I went to Walgreens as they have school planners available. I would have gone to Slate, but it was raining. I should have gone to Slate as I bought the wrong fucking planner. It is a 2019 planner, not a 2018-2019 one. Fucking idiot I am. I got my old planner out and ordered undated calendar refills. They didn’t have weekly ones so I am not sure what I am getting. At least that will hold me for a while. It was 5 bucks so not a huge deal. I can use the other planner when the year starts, if I am still around.

I don’t think I had the air cast on right. I swear every time I use it, I have it a different way than the way I had it before. By the time I left my therapist’s office and was waiting for the bus home, my right Achilles was hurting me. I wanted to take it off but I knew it would be a good idea as I am so fricken tired. I didn’t write a blog yesterday because I just crashed around 8 pm. I don’t think I am going to watch the game tonight. I missed the home run derby last night in the 10th inning. All I know is one minute the game is tied, the next it is 10-5 Sox. Game over. LOL. We got our 80th win. Sweet. I am so happy for our team. I love my boys. I have included some of my favorite players in this blog. Hope I don’t get in trouble for using it lol

L to R, Andrew (Benny) Benintendi, Mookie Betts, Brock Holt

about today’s therapy session

After I wrote my blog last night, I stayed up for maybe an hour and then I crashed. I was so wiped out and knew if I fought it, I was going to get overtired and then sleep whenever. So I basically fell asleep by 2130. But fucking stupid pain woke me at 0100. Again it happened while I was dreaming to wake me up. Annoying. I had taken my pain meds so I don’t understand why I am waking up in pain. Doesn’t make sense. It was difficult to go back to sleep. Around 5, I made breakfast. I read. I laid down to try and sleep but then my fricken bones started hurting. I didn’t fall back to sleep until 0630. I took my morning meds before I tried sleeping, including my pain meds as I put the do not disturb on my phone but set my alarm for exclusion so I wouldn’t oversleep.

The damn thing went off at 10 but I didn’t want to get up. I had to sleep because I had a late therapy appointment and if I stayed up, I might be groggy by the time therapy rolled around. I didn’t want that. I took a shower and then went to my room to cool off. Then I made some cold cut sandwiches for lunch. I then left to do the errand for mother. When I was done, the bus was there so I took it, even though it wouldn’t take me to the square. I ordered my espresso got some Pike for home. Then I had my sandwich. It was good. I had brought some cookies in case I wanted something sweet but I was too full. I wrote in my journal for a bit and then left for therapy.

Therapy was good. I brought up some difficult things I wanted to discuss but wasn’t sure if he would dump me after I told him. I said so and he said there were only about 4 things that would cause him to dump me. 1) self-harm in his office, 2) injuring him, 3) destroying any of his office things, and the 4) undressing in his in office. Then asked him if he planned on undressing and he said no. Good. I really don’t want to see him naked!

We had a good chat around my suicidality. I brought up some points that my friend on Twitter brought up with the blog I wrote over the weekend. He asked why I thought it would scare him away and I said because I wasn’t sure how crazy you would think I am. He said he has extensive work in trauma so understands how things can get wonky trying to cope with it when you don’t know how to cope, basically (my words, not his). I felt better talking about this and asked what to do about it and he gave me an answer that I didn’t like, which was “this”. And I was like what, put things in a bag and then pull them out one by one? Deal with everything? Come on, man, give me some guidance! We went over the stuff little by little until time ran out. But there is no structure with how we will proceed and that kind of irks me. He said I like control and I do, to a degree. This guy really gets me and I am so glad because I can talk to him and not worry he is going to force me to go to the hospital after we talk or bind me to some safety contract before leaving. The suicidologist in me is totally freaking out about this because there should be SOME plan but there isn’t. He has said that if I want to kill myself, I am free to do so, just don’t do it in his office, basically. This is really hard to grasp when I have had 27 years of therapists that have been very strict on safety and calling for help and the what not of trying to keep me alive. Sometimes I feel like he doesn’t give a shit if I live or die, but today I got a glimpse that he does care if I do. Usually, the therapist’s care if what helps me to know if I am worth caring about. I know my psychiatrist cares. She wouldn’t nudge me and be a pain in the ass about me seeing her if she didn’t. I don’t get that way with this therapist though. If I want to cancel, it is okay where past therapists have always given me a hassle on why did I cancel like if I didn’t have a good enough reason, I couldn’t cancel the session. I tell him I can’t make it, and that is fine with him. He understands that I have a medical condition that sometimes forces me out of the game. I sometimes cannot physically make it in. I try though and I sometimes wait too long to cancel until I realize I can’t cancel because it is past the golden hour to do so.

Anyway, these are just my experiences with this therapist. I like him even though there is no structure. Just talk and see where it goes kind of deal. It kind of drives me crazy some times but it is also okay because there is no linear path of getting better. Just like my memoir. It goes forwards and backwards. I hope we do talk about what we talked about today again. I think I will have to bring it up to work on it. I just don’t see him doing that.

What if I live?

What if I live?

Been thinking seriously of ending my life in a few weeks. I plan dates. It helps me cope knowing I have some date to look forward to so I know the misery will end. Usually this happens in a state of despair when my pain levels are high and all I can think about is death.

But the next morning, after a few hours or more of sleep, I feel differently. Some mornings I cannot believe I sunk so low. Yet usually there is some record of it—a blog or email or social media post. It brings me back, temporarily, to that place and I wonder what if I live rather than go through the plan to die?

I have few events coming up in the next few months. Something to look forward to, so to speak, yet on the nights of despair, they are far from reach, unable to be thought about. Someone said that I should write goodbye letters. I wrote one to my psychiatrist. The other 19 people on my list is a little harder. I don’t have all my ducks in a row, so to speak, to end my life like I had planned way back in March. I was supposed to die in June. It is now the middle of July and I am still here. I do’t feel that getting help would be helpful to me. I have been in therapy for 27 years, that is nearly half of my lifetime. Yet I still remain as suicidally trapped as I did when I was 15 years old and wanted to seriously end my life then.

What if I live?

I don’t know the answer to this question. I just keep going, hoping the day won’t come where I’ll say I’ve had enough and go through with my plan. I don’t want to live. I am in too much physical pain. CRPS has taken so much from me. Might as well take my life as well. I’m not worth living.

I feel like I am crying wolf too many times. I don’t think anyone believes just how serious I am this time. But even I am not 100% convinced I will end my life on the day I planned. What if I live? What if I die? What if I am rescued in time? No one knows my plan. Hell, I don’t even know it completely. I’ve been too afraid of putting it forward because that will make it more real. Do I have to end my life? I feel I have to. I feel no one cares how bad I hurt. And not one medical professional wants to see my suffering end. I’ve had enough of fighting for my care. I had to do this since I was 16. I can’t do it anymore. I’ve run out of gas. If I live, I’ll continue to suffer just so my family and friends aren’t in pain. What kind of life is that?

I’ve been pushing through trying to hang on. I know the demons will pass in the morning. Hence I live to see another day. Hence I live, least until despair grabs a hold of me once again.

What if I live?

One More Light

One More Light

****expressions of suicide in this blog are just that. I am blowing off steam, expressing myself because keeping it in hurts too much****

This song by Linkin Park recently won an award for something I cannot remember. I saw it a couple of days ago. I am not surprised as when I first heard it, I knew it would be the perfect song for suicide prevention. Yet somehow, with my upcoming demise, I cannot help but think of this song.

I was talking to a friend of mine who I told a few months ago that I had made the decision to end my life in a few months. I told her yesterday when I would do it. She asked if everything had been planned like we talked about. I realized I didn’t have all my ducks in a row. Hell, I still haven’t written my letters. I am finding it hard to say goodbye to those I love dearly. People always think that suicide is an impulsive act. That is kind of horseshit to those that suffer from it chronically. There is usually a lot of planning involved. Even Chester had a smile on his face and looked happy in the days before he ended his life. I nor anyone else will know what was going through his mind that lead him to this decision.

Pain o’clock started a little while ago. I am so fricken tired of hurting. I know that no medicine or treatment will bring me pain free. Even if I go through the pain program and their tasks, I will still have pain. I will just manage it better, which I guess it is better than what I am doing now. Even though I am on better pain meds to manage my pain, I am still having flares. I really think that if I was on a higher dose of meds, just 15 milligrams, I wouldn’t have so many flares per week. But according to my psychiatrist, they (pain docs) won’t do that. I have had enough. She saw me yesterday because she was worried about me after I sent her a few emails about how bad the pain was and how my suicidality was increased. I am tired of fighting the supposed experts. It is shit when they don’t fucking listen to the patient. Like what was the point of me seeing her if she wasn’t going to do anything? I am done, so fucking done.

I am sorry to my friend and family about ending my life in the next few weeks. I tried really hard to manage my pain better but they fucked me over. My light needs to be extinguished. I can’t go on like this anymore. I don’t have a fucking life. I can’t even fucking read a book for fun anymore or go to Starbucks to write in my journal about mundane things without pain. It is only going to therapy or medical appointments these days. Often I leave an hour or two early so I do have time to cope with travel and write because as you can see, there are more than a few days between entries. Even my night journal doesn’t have that many entries. I should be on my new journal by now as I am so close to the last few pages but I am not because I don’t fucking care. I plan my death. I rather do that. That gives me hope that I can escape from this hell.

I am so very sorry for hurting any and everyone involved in my life. I know there are many people that will be hurt that that I am gone. If I could put a band-aid on your hearts I would. I don’t blame anyone. This isn’t anyone’s fault. I have postponed this long enough. I was supposed to die in June and here it is July. I wish I had the time to analyze this song. It is such a beautiful song with so many meanings.